


This little Game of theirs.

by LokiBitch07



Series: The Game [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bored Sherlock, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rape Roleplay, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiBitch07/pseuds/LokiBitch07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please James, will you help me?<br/>I am so very bored; I don’t know what to do.<br/>SH</p>
<p>I like pain.<br/>Could be dangerous.<br/>SH</p>
<p>Safeword is 'Enough'<br/>JM</p>
            </blockquote>





	This little Game of theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> This nasty little plot bunny has been on my mind for 2-3 months now.  
> I finally decided that I had to stop thinking about it and just write it down.  
> If you know my other stories, you already know that I am going to hell.  
> If you don’t know them, read the warnings. And then read them again. 
> 
> This is the telling of a rape fantasy. A satisfying and fully consensual rape fantasy between a party of three. And yes, this is what I think Sherlock does with his time when he is bored.  
> Don’t you?
> 
> Please also know that I am not sorry. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and by the way, my Sebastian Moran is Michael Fassbender.  
> Like, a real well trained, hard muscled but not fat Michael Fassbender.  
> Meow. 
> 
>  
> 
> x

Moriarty never did his own dirty work.  
No, he preferred to watch.

I was always interesting to see how quickly someone broke.  
Moriarty had thought, nay, _hoped_ that Sherlock would put up a fight this time; that he would struggle, snarl and spit. 

But no. 

After the abduction, when the bag over his head was removed, Sherlock had talked, deduced, lashed out with words when his body could not.  
Then he had realized the problem he was in.  
He had stopped talking and started thinking.  
Then he had started to beg.

Moriarty was almost disappointed. He had so hoped for angry, obsessed Sherlock. 

Then, when the first painful blows of the cat-o-nine tails hit the detective’s pale skin, he had held his breath. Then Sherlock Holmes had started to whimper in his dark, seductive voice, head thrown back.  
Scared.  
Vulnerable.  
Oh yes, he could work with that as well.

Moriarty had chosen one of his favorite cat-on-nine tails that Sebastian was swinging now in a steady rhythm, penalizing the naked flesh in front of him, smiling as he did so.  
It was made from soft leather.  
It did not cut skin.  
But it smarted beautifully and painted the body with stripes of red in a way James Moriarty preferred. 

Sherlock’s hands were tightly fastened above his head, his legs dangling, and while he could stand on his tiptoes, with every blow of the cat he would try to get away, trying to escape the lashes raining on his naked back, buttocks and thighs.  
Sebastian changed his rhythm, sometimes beating slow but hard, then fast and almost playful, switching to the front to cover chest, stomach and genitals just to hear how many different types of sounds the detective could provide.  
Sherock groaned, then begged, a constant: ”Please, stop, no no, stop, please….” pouring from his lips. 

Finally he screamed.  
Loud.  
Pained.

Sebastian gave him another couple of strikes, then stopped abruptly, the room eerily quiet apart from the low sobbing and the clinking of the chain as Sherlock swung slowly back and forth. 

“Gorgeous” Moriarty sighed. 

He stepped up, looking smart as ever in his expensive designer suit, a crass contrast to the slender, naked detective and the even taller, heavily muscled Sebastian behind him. 

Moriarty let his fingers trail down the reddened flesh of Sherlock’s heaving chest.  
Sherlock whimpered for a moment, then James could almost _see_ him thinking, formulating the words carefully.

The Game.

“Please James, I will give you what you want…I can…I can work with you, James. I can…please…just tell me…tell me what you want.” Sherlock kept his voice steady, but Moriarty could hear a pitch of panic in Sherlock’s breath. 

He had almost managed to cover it.  
Almost. 

So Fearplay.  
Moriarty was fine with that. 

“What I want?” James’s eyes were round and big, almost as black as they wandered up to Sherlock’s flushed face. “Don’t be boring, Sherlock, I don’t WANT anything from you. No no no no no.”

He leaned in, his mouth curled into a large, manic grin as he whispered:  
“I told you stay away. Told you to stop prying. But you did not listen to me, did you?  
I admit it was…fun, this little hunt of yours, but I need you to BACK OFF!”

Again his eyes lowered, he pinched one of Sherlock’s nipples, and Sherlock bit his lip as he tried not to arch his back at the stinging pain.

“I could have, of course, killed you, but there are different ways to destroy a person, don’t you think?  
He gripped Sherlock by the curls, pulling him close:  
“Here’s the deal Sherlock. You know I call you the virgin. Well, I think it is about time that that changes, don’t you think?”

“You….” Sherlock’s eyes flicked to Sebastian, widening them for a moment, then face set as if in stone.

Moriarty snickered.  
“That’s right. You will remember this evening for a long time to come, and every time you feel like you need to disrupt my business again you will feel it in your ARSE and you will wonder whether or not to maybe stay away.”

Moriarty stepped back. 

“Now, shall we show him what he is dealing with, Sebby?”

Sebastian grinned, his hair short and blond, parted in a fashionable way on the side of his head. He opened his jeans with a sharp zip and then pulled his large cock from his pants, stroking it slowly.  
He was not fully hard yet, but he was big, and Sherlock groaned when he saw it.

His body convulsed slightly, as if moving back could bring more distance between what he saw and what he KNEW would happen to him, but his feet left the floor and he swung forward instead, towards the two men.  
Sebastian gripped his thigh as Sherlock struggled harder, panic flaming in his eyes for a moment, no more than 2-3 sec, but long enough for Moran’s cock to fill completely.

Moriarty leaned in, tongue licking over his pale lips.  
“God, you are going to be so gorgeous, Sherlock. I am so glad I decided to do this instead of just killing you. The way you struggle, the way your pale body glows with the beating, the way your skin swells and flushes so wonderfully. Really, you should not have waited so long to allow someone to use you the way you should be used.”

Moriarty leaned back, drinking in the fearful gaze of Sherlock’s eyes on Moran’s cock. 

“Well. Anyway, we are going to get ready for you, it will be a grand show, don’t you think, Sebby? See you very soon Sherlock.”

And then they left.  
Leaving Sherlock in the small, damp room in total darkness, hanging from the chain, cold and shivering.

 

x

 

Sherlock’s mind was very clear, very sharp.  
He knew it was the adrenalin.  
It was the pain.  
 _Distraction._

John had left for the night to sleep at his girlfriends. He had done it more often lately.  
Sherlock knew it was because John was allowed to have sex twice this way, once in the evening and once, if he was lucky, in the mornings as well.  
He had left at 7:24 pm.  
Moran had come for him at 8:32 pm. 

John would not miss Sherlock before the end of tomorrow.

x

 

It’s about 2 hours later when they come to get him.  
Sebastian had lowered Sherlock and then unbuckled him, leaving the large, medical restraint-cuffs around his wrists and ankles in place. 

Sherlock did not struggle.  
He knew he had to keep his energy for an escape.  
He would have the chance.  
Just be ready for when the time has come.

 

He was dragged through a short, dark corridor into a large, industrial-like hall.  
Cold.  
No windows.  
Probably basement.  
Meat hooks on the wall.  
Meat-packing facility.

There were three cameras at different angles, all pointing to a contraption, a wooden Y as large as a man lying on the floor, attached to 3 chains from the ceiling.  
Highlighted by spot lights.

Sherlock did not have enough time to think when he was pulled towards the structure.

He was laid down, back onto the longer part of the Y, his legs pointing towards the upper part of the letter. 

And then he realized.  
“No! NO! STOP!” Sherlock tried to scramble away as Sebastian opened a sturdy lock and attached chains to his wrists, locking them in place, stretching them long above his head.  
With the click of the lock Sherlock started to struggle in earnest, pushing himself up, kicking with his free feet. 

He saw a glimpse of Moriarty over Moran’s shoulder, and then his whole body drowned in world of pain as James pressed a cattle prod into his side, sending agonizingly painful jolts through his whole being, making him convulse with the current.  
Sherlock rode it out until it was over, leaving his nerve-endings raw and painful, his heart beating to his chest as he concentrates on catching his breath. 

Moran was done stretching his upper body as long as he could and now buckled three belts across Sherlock’s chest and stomach, fastening him to the heavy wood beam, making sure that the detective’s arse was all the way down to where the Y split in two.  
He pulled his legs up one at a time, Sherlock whining and twisting, but the pain of the cattle prod too fresh in his mind to do more than that. 

He would not get away.  
Not anymore.  
Finally he was all strapped in, his legs stretched and restrained above him at the chains to the sides, opening him in the Y formation.  
Sherlock was open and vulnerable, his arse spread wide open.

 

Moriarty gave a sign, and the chains holding the wooden Y started to curl up, then lifting the frame along with Sherlock on it, swinging slightly as he started to move.  
“Sebby?”  
Moriarty gave a wave and Sebastian stepped up, pressing his clothed cock towards Sherlock’s open ass, and stood, grinning.  
Sherlock tensed in panic, but all Moriarty did was adjust the height for Moran.

“Higher”.

And then they were set up, Sherlock swaying slightly, all lights and cameras on him.

 

James Moriarty walked around the swinging contraption slowly, tested the bindings, slapping Sherlock to watch how the flinch shifted the free-hanging Y, slowly rotating him to the side. 

“Now, Sebby, what do you think? Virgin?”

Sebastian grinned at Jim and stepped around, as Moriarty let his fingers run along Sherlock’s chest, focused on the wide blue eyes of the detective.  
A slick finger pressed against his hole and Sherlock tensed, curling his hands into fists, preparing himself.

Sherlock had decided that he would fully allow himself to indulge in the fantasy.  
His mind switched.  
He was horrified.  
 _Transport, that is all it is Sherlock. Just transport. This will be uncomfortable, probably even painful, maybe it will leave permanent damage. But it will be over soon. And then someone will find you. Just…get through this._  
The finger pushed, sliding in, Sherlock clenching at the foreign and _wrong_ feeling of something coming in, not going out.  
 _Wrong._  
Wrong.  
Wrong.  
He whimpered. 

Sebastian gave a low grunt. “Tight. Either a virgin or has not had anyone in a long time.” 

It snapped Sherlock out of it, and he took a deep breath. 

“Fantastic.” Moriarty clapped his hands like a little child and jumped up and down.  
“Let’s get started then, shall we?”

The rest of the preparations took less than 10 minutes.  
Camera turned on. 

_Let’s start the show._

 

x

They had, predictably, beaten him.  
With the crop, with a highly flexible stick that stung like hell but did not break skin, with a broad paddle.  
James had pressed a red-hot mark into his side.  
Branding him.  
“Something to remember me by” he had whispered as Sherlock squirmed.  
It had added beautifully to the row of marks already left on his hips. 

Sebastian had taken off his shirt, trousers and pants, naked apart from his dog tags and army boots, which Sherlock found looked utterly ridiculous.  
He felt like giggling.  
 _Hysteria._

 

Sebastian slowly walked up to Sherlock, allowing him a full view of his rigidly erect cock that he continued to pump with one overly slippery hand.  
Sherlock felt the cold flush of fear in his stomach, tried to loose himself in facts he could remember about intercourse, tried to be clinical, analytical.  
 _Size above average, especially for Caucasian, around 16 cm, circumcised, normal with his American heritage, … Unprotected penile-anal penetration, colloquially known as "barebacking, carries a higher risk of passing on sexually transmitted infections (STIs/STDs) because the anal sphincter is a delicate, easily-torn tissue that can tear and provide an entry for pathogens…_

Sebastian saw his gaze, slightly fearful but almost determined and he grinned, giving himself another couple of strokes, showing himself off for the cameras.

He knew James liked to watch them.  
It was how he played the Game.

Sebastian slowly walked between the legs of Sherlock, spread wide and open, waiting for him.  
He rubbed Sherlock’s ass cheeks with one hand, relishing at the whiteness of the skin, the fine dusting of dark hair along the pale flesh.

 

Then Sebastian slapped Sherlock's buttocks with his open hand.  
Hard.

Again.  
Again.  
Again.

Sherlock groaned as the contraption started to move under him, started to swing with the mounting pressure of the blows.  
Moran continued to spank him and Sherlock moaned louder, struggling harder to get away from the hand as the first hits landed on his testicles, ripping high-pitched whimpers from his throat.  
The beating continued harder and faster, now hitting his limp cock, now landing between his legs on his painfully open perineum, Sherlock screaming, forgetting everything else. 

_Pain._

Sebastian grinned as he saw his victim starting to sweat, snot running from his nose as his arse turned bright red, knees convulsing rhythmically.  
Moran knew Sherlock was ready for him.  
He held his straining cock in one hand while with he gave the Y -swing another push, away from him and lined himself up. 

Sherlock had been waiting for the next slap, clenched and then he felt the cock at his arse, sliding along his perineum to aim, then he swung back once more. 

He knew what he had to do.  
He relaxed his lower body, _forced_ it to relax.  
Seen enough rape victims to know how they normally got injured.  
Relax.

Moran knew his victim realized what was about to happen, relishing as Sherlock's eyes widened slightly in panic and then he leaned forward as the gravity and weight of the wood brought him back to his waiting cock, sliding it into the clenched hole just by the force of gravity and the weight of the wood, without a pause penetrating deep and hard, all the way down.. 

It was too fast, too brutal, too _painful_ and Sherlock could not hold back from the scream of agony that escaped him, trying to pull his knees up, only managing to rattle the chains that held his legs in place high above him.  
He sat flush on Sebastian’s wiry curls and he tried to breathe, blink through the haze of the pulsating burning sensation, hating and simultaneously loving the splitting pain between his legs that felt like someone had burrowed a knife within him. 

Moran was not moving, just holding Sherlock’s thighs so he stayed deep within him as Holmes forced himself to stop struggling, forced himself to breathe, for his head to stay clear. 

Moriarty suddenly leaned in, eyes sparkling as he stroked the sweaty hair from Sherlock’s brow.  
““OOooohhhhhhh… A screamer! I love it, Sherlock. Who would have thought you had it in you?”

His eyes never left Sherlock’s face as he commanded: “Slow, Sebby, slow.”

Sherlock did not understand at first, and then he tensed as the cock was painfully slow pulled out of him, scraping along what seemed to be splits in the tender skin of his anus, like pulling the knife back out of him, allowing him to relish in the sensation. 

He keened, a low hurt sound that he tried to stifle behind clenched teeth, but to no avail.

“There you go, Sherlock. Do you feel that? Do you love it? Look at me!”

Sherlock felt his head twisted to the side and he closed his eyes, defiant still, and James laughed softly as he stepped back into the shadows.

And Sebby fucked slowly. 

Agonzing slide out, hold, agonizing slide in, hold, and repeat.  
Sherlock felt like he did this forever and whined; trying not to struggle, trying not to fight, relaxing himself, the pain a steady factor he rode as it washed over him.  
His thighs started to shiver and he could feel cold sweat run from his forehead. 

_Pain._

And then Sebastian started to pick up speed, one hand clawing at the belt that held his middle, pulling him into Sebastian’s cock.  
Hard.  
Fast.  
A steady pounding that intensified the burn in his arse tenfold, and then Moran reached down, taking Sherlock’s cock in his hand and started to twist. 

The new pain distracted from the old, but when Sebastian’s hand curled around his balls and pulled, hard, holding them so the blood would pool, Sherlock could feel the bile rising from his stomach

_Agonzing slide out, hold, agonizing slide in, hold, and repeat._  
Pain.  
PAIN. 

Vomit bubbled into his mouth and then he started to wretch, to struggle as Moran held his testicles tight , continued his thrusting as if nothing was happening.  
Sherlock turning his head so he would not drown in his own sick as it splashed out of his mouth, spitting out a small stream of bile and water onto the floor beneath him.  
Sherlock’s body continued to rock with the steady thrusts, moaning at the vile taste in his mouth. 

Moriarty tsked: “And who is going to clean that up, Sherlock? Me? Sebby? I don’t think so.”

With a sharp whistle the riding crop came down and hit Sherlock straight on the nipple.

Sherlock screamed. 

Slap.  
 _Scream._  
Slap.

Slap.  
 _PAIN_

“Harder, Sebby.”

And then Moran started to pound and Sherlock tried to arch away, tried to escape, but Sebastian held fast to the bindings around Sherlock’s stomach, holding him in place and fucked into him. Sherlock groaned deep in his chest from the hurt, eyes wide open, unable to move, just his legs convulsing at the chains, swinging him slightly from side to side on Moran’s cock, grinding into open wounds.  
Tears slid down the detective’s face as he tried to calm himself, but the pain went deep into his chest.

Pain.  
The best distraction in the world. 

Sherlock focused on the sensation, then tried to disconnect his brain from his body as he was ravished.  
His mind wandered once more.

_Pain during receptive anal sex is formally known as anodyspareunia…12% of gay men find it too painful to pursue receptive anal sex, …the perception of anal sex as painful is just as likely to be psychologically or emotionally based as it is to be physically based….16% of bottoms (receptive partners) reported significant pain… Factors predictive of pain during anal sex include inadequate lubrication, feeling tense or anxious, lack of stimulation, as well as lack of social ease….._

Sherlock felt hysteria bubble up inside him, and then he was grounded by Sebastian’s fist s slamming into his stomach and chest as he continued pound into him.

“Stay with us, Sherly, there you go!”  
Moran shifted, slapping him hard on the side of his chest, taking Sherlock’s breath away with the burst of dull hurt, just to be brought back to the rough, burning fuck he was forced to submitted to, _loved_ submitting to.

Sebastian leaned forward, eyes narrowed, mouth curled into a growl as he twisted his hips, pushing himself as far as he could go, one hand crawling around his thigh, his other now grabbing Sherlock’s flaccid penis, stroking it fast, hard, painful. 

Sherlock’s mind blanched for a moment, felt his cock swelling under the ministrations, sobbed at his traitorous body.

_Plain somatic reaction of the penile tissue and glands forcing dilatation of the arterioles and arteries by increased blood flow in both the diastolic and the systolic phase…_

Moriarty’s voice brought him back to reality, to _here_ to _now_ to _I am being raped and there is nothing I can do about it_. 

Play the game Sherlock.

His cock was now partially hard in Moran’s hand, who was gripping too tight, pulling too hard, jerking too fast.  
Too much. 

Moriarty leaned in, black eyes glittering.  
Touching his face.  
Stroking his cheeks.  
“Oh dear Lord Sherlock, are you enjoying this? I knew that you got off on crime-solving, but who would have thought...”

“Clearly an unwilling….bodily…reaction….” Sherlock hissed between clenched teeth as he fought the waves of forced pleasure against the burning pain of his ass, still stuffed full with an enormous cock, so large, _too_ large inside him. 

“Of course.” Moriarty nodded. “But still, how _embarrassing_ ”

“PISS OFF!”

Moriarty’s mouth curled distastefully. “Sebby.”

_The Game._

Sebastian straightened himself and a cruel smile ghosted over his face, and he started to fuck hard, brutal, holding Sherlock steady by the stomach restraint, allowing him no place to squirm, to get away, to stop what was happening.  
Then he started to rock his body, forward and back, pushing Sherlock’s swinging contraption away from him. Sherlock felt Sebastian slip out of him, leaving his hole wide and open, injured flesh burning in the cold air. He tensed at the knowledge that gravity was taking him back, and Sebastian was there and pushed his cock into him in one hard go, and Sherlock howled at the invasion, at being ripped apart again from the inside.  
Sebastian did it again, shouting over the pained moans and sobs off the man beneath him, fucking in and out, sharp thrusts that sheathed the man up to the hill just to push the wood away from him again.

Sherlock started to gag once more, nothing left in his stomach but sour bile.  
His erection had wilted once more.

_Pain.  
Distraction._

“Finish him.”

Moriarty was there, of course he was as Sebastian pounded, breath now almost laboured, like a bull, pistoling in and out of the clenching arse of Sherlock, watching his thick cock disappear between the trembling white cheeks, gripping tight, fucking to hurt. 

Moriarty leaned in and placed both of his hands on Sherlock’s throat, squeezing hard, and Sherlock’s mind cleared as he screamed, from the top of his lungs at the pain that destroyed his insides.  
Air.  
Air.  
He struggled harder, unable to get away, the sadistic grin of Moriarty hovering over him, strangling him, and then the hand was back on his prick, stroking, hurting.  
Sherlock screamed, and then the panic won over.

“Enough.”

James let go the very instant, arms flaying up and to the side, Sebastian slowing and then stopping, still deeply buried in Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock breathed in and out, felt Sebastian’s hands rub along his stomach, the pain grounding him once more.  
“Sorry. My bad.”

Moriarty grinned.  
“God, you are so beautiful, Sherlock.”

 

x

The pain.  
It was better than anything.

Better than cocain had ever been.  
More distracting than anything else in the world. 

 

x

 

Yes. He loved this little Game of theirs.


End file.
